Double Dose
by AnimationNut
Summary: Summer is a time of adventure and mystery, especially for those in Gravity Falls. But the summer flu is not merciful, and the Pines twins are struck down with leaking noses and nauseous stomachs. But they don't have to suffer alone. Grunkle Stan intends to be by their side the whole time.
1. Summer Flu

**I do not own Gravity Falls.**

**Just fluff between Stan and his niece and nephew. If there are particular moments you want to see, throw down your suggestion in a review and I'll see what I can do.**

**Summer Flu**

The moon's rays filtered through the thin curtains that hung in front of the attic window. Mabel Pines rolled over with a soft moan, eyelids cracking open. She blearily looked at her cat-shaped clock hanging on the wall, and the paws were pointing at _12 _and _3 _respectively.

"What hit me?" she asked herself groggily, hand moving to press against her forehead. There was a steady pounding in her head, snot dripped from her nostrils and her throat felt heavy. Coughing slightly, she wiped her nose on the sleeve of her favourite purple nightgown and climbed from her bed.

Bad idea.

The room spun around her and she gripped the bedpost for balance. Taking a few breaths, she waited a moment before creeping over to her brother's bed. "Dipper," she whispered. "Are you alive?"

Her twin grumbled in his sleep, discomfort creasing his brow. He rolled over and tugged his blanket tighter around him, his shivers noticeable. Mabel felt her own body tremble with cold, though she knew it was one of the hottest weeks of the summer.

There was no doubt about it. They were sick.

Vaguely remembering the tell-tale signs of scratchy throats and leaky noses, Mabel wrapped her arms around her torso with a soft frown. There few things in the world that she hated, but the summer flu was one of them. You were stuck inside on beautiful days, bed ridden and feeling lousy.

A bout of coughing overtook her and she pressed her fist against her mouth to muffle the sound. Stan did not like to be woken up in the middle of the night, so she tried to make less noise as possible. "What cures the common cold?" she asked her pet pig Waddles. When her pig continued snoring contentedly, Mabel answered her own question. "Orange juice! And maybe some sugar to keep the energy up."

She snagged her blanket from bed, careful not to disturb Waddles. She wrapped it around her body and made her way downstairs. "Squeakity squeak squeak," she said softly as the stairs groaned under her weight.

Reaching the main landing, she spotted the blue glow of the television coming from the living room. She peeked inside and found her great-uncle snoring away on his favourite armchair, drool spilling out of the corner of his mouth.

Giggling softly (which quickly turned into coughs) Mabel retreated into the kitchen. She opened the fridge and wrestled out the cardboard carton of juice. Tucking it under one arm, she stood on her tiptoes and opened up a cupboard. She snagged a glass and just as she was pulling it out, another dizzy spell struck her.

She dropped the glass in order to grab the back of a wooden kitchen chair to keep herself from falling over. It shattered on the tiles, glass shards scattering around her feet. With a soft whimper, she rested her head against the wood, her stomach suddenly twisting violently.

"What's goin' on in here?"

Slowly, she lifted her head to see her Grunkle Stan framed in the doorway. "My tummy is rebelling against me," she said.

Frowning, Stan moved into the kitchen. "What's wrong, kiddo?"

"I've got the summer flu."

Bending down, he lifted Mabel into his arms and swept her over the glass. He set her on the kitchen table and rested his wrist against her forehead. "Geez, what did you eat, molten lava?"

"I don't think that would taste so good," she mumbled. "Maybe if we added sprinkles to it, though."

Stan spotted the carton of juice she clutched under her arm. "If you wanted a drink, you coulda just came and got me."

"You were sleeping, and I can do it. The room just started to go topsy-turvy, that's all."

"I can see that." Stan gently took the juice from her grip and set it on the table. "Back to bed with you, missy. I'll get your juice for you."

"M'kay," Mabel hummed and got down from the table. She made the trek back to her attic bedroom that she shared with Dipper. She climbed into her bed and wrapped herself up in her blanket, her cold feet pressed against Waddles' side.

A minute later, Stan entered with a glass of orange juice. Mabel gratefully took it and started to chug, the sweet liquid a blessing on her dry, sore throat.

"Whoa, whoa," Stan cautioned, easing the rim of the glass from her lips. "Not so fast, kid. You don't want to upset your stomach."

"It's already mad at me," informed Mabel sadly. She gave her belly a pat, and an uncomfortable lurch answered her attempt at affection. "It doesn't respond to my love anymore."

"Give it a few days," Stan drawled. "I'm sure it'll forgive you."

Mabel finished her orange juice at a slower pace and handed her great-uncle the glass. Stan set it on the nightstand table and glanced at his nephew. He was shifting about in his sleep, a sheen of sweat on his brow. "Him too?"

"It's our twin powers," Mabel explained with a yawn. "We always get sick together."

"Well, at least this place will be quiet for a bit. I'm going to get the thermometer, try not to fall asleep on me."

He departed, leaving Mabel to stare at the mouldy ceiling. She knew that sleep would not come so easily to her as it did to Dipper when they were sick. It was a gift she wished she had.

After a few minutes of listening to her brother's uneven breathing, Stan returned, carrying two boxes of tissues, a bucket and two glass thermometers. "Dry your nose before you drown in your own fluids."

Mabel took a tissue from the box handed to her and blew hard. When she was done, she pulled back the white folds and stared at the green booger mess inside. "That came from my nose."

"That's gross, kid." Stan shook his head and stuck one of the thermometers in her mouth. "No talking. I'll let you know when you can take it out."

Mabel nodded and tossed the tissue onto the hardwood floor. Stan placed the bucket in the middle of the room and knelt by Dipper's bed. "Kid," he said, shaking the boy firmly. "Wake up."

Dipper gave a whine of protest and pressed against the wall. Stan pulled the blanket way, causing the boy to turn over and tuck his knees against his chest. Reproachful eyes peered through cracked eyelids, lips formed into a pout.

"I know, kid. I know." Stan eased the boy into a sitting position. "Open up."

Dipper obeyed, parting his lips and allowing the thermometer to be placed against his tongue. "Alright, Mabel, you can take yours out now."

The brunette obeyed, taking the slim glass stick from her mouth. Stan took it from her and studied the red line. "One hundred degrees Fahrenheit."

"I'm hot," Mabel joked.

Stan set the thermometer on the nightstand table and moved back to Dipper, whose eyes were sagging. "Good job, kid." He checked his temperature. "Sorry, Mabel. He's got you beat. One hundred and one degrees Fahrenheit. I know two squirts who aren't doing anything tomorrow."

"Sleep?" Dipper mumbled hopefully.

"Yeah, sport. You can go back to sleep." Stan pulled the blanket halfway over the boy's body. "I'll check on you in a few hours."

"Thanks," slurred Dipper, eyes falling shut.

"But I can't sleep when I'm sick," Mabel looked up at her uncle with wide eyes. "Can I watch T.V. with you downstairs?"

"Are you trying to infect me?"

"Uh-huh. Then we can all be sick buddies!" She held her arms out expectantly, and Stan let out a sigh before scooping his niece into his arms. The girl buried her head against his shoulder happily. "Love you."

"Yeah, yeah," Stan said gruffly, snagging her box of tissues and casting a quick glance at the slumbering Dipper before heading downstairs.

The television was still blaring the Ducktective marathon. Stan settled in his armchair, moving Mabel into a more comfortable position. Her head rested against his chest, her legs stretching across his lap. "Am I gonna have to stay in bed all day tomorrow?"

"It is tomorrow, and yes. The second the sun rises you're going back to rest this bug off. The Shack isn't going to clean itself, so I need you two healthy and weird as soon as possible."

"We're pretty weird," informed Mabel seriously. "So that might take a while."

Despite her claim, after five episodes the girl fell asleep, curled against her uncle's chest. Stan smoothed her hair away from her sweaty forehead and smiled fondly.

"Get well, kid. If you and your brother aren't running around soon, I don't know what I'm going to do with the silence."


	2. Bed Ridden

**I do not own Gravity Falls.**

**Bed Ridden**

When Stan awoke four hours later, it was to find himself alone in the living room, the television set now airing an early morning talk show. With a soft grunt, he got out of his armchair and stretched, his stained tank top rising up and exposing his generous gut. "Mabel?"

There was no response, so he assumed that she had woken up before him and went back to her attic abode. He went to his bedroom and changed into his usual tux before climbing the stairs to check on the twins.

He gave a brief rap on the wooden door before easing it open. He peeked into the room and found Dipper twisted up in his covers like a caterpillar in a cocoon. Mabel's bed was empty. "Darn kid," he grumbled, knowing that the child was avoiding her temporary bed-ridden fate.

Focussing on Dipper, he went over and untangled the boy from his wool entrapment. The twelve-year-old whined at the loss of warmth, and Stan caught the small hands grabbing blindly for the blanket in his own calloused grip. At the source of contact, Dipper blearily opened his eyes. "Cold," he informed plainly.

"You got a fever, sport. You need to cool it down. That means no smothering yourself with a blanket." Stan hoisted the boy up so that he was leaning against the wall and placed the back of his hand against the child's forehead. The flesh was still warm to the touch. "I'm going to find your sister, I'm going to get you both a cold cloth, and I'm taking this with me."

Stan tossed the blanket over his shoulder. Dipper pouted up at him, his sweaty bangs falling over his eyes. But he did not argue, he only curled up into a ball and snuggled into his pillow. "Drink?" he requested. "Please?"

"Geez, runt, are you always this articulate when you're sick?" Stan asked in amusement.

He got a nod in response. Stan shook his head and descended back downstairs, tossing the heavy blanket on the living room couch as he went. He shoved open the door that separated the gift shop from the rest of his home and was greeted by his redheaded cashier, who (in a very rare display) showed up on time.

"Hey, Boss!" Wendy grinned, leaning against the till. "Ready to open shop?"

Stan cast a quick glance at his watch. There was about twenty minutes left before he was to officially open. "Not quite. Where's Soos?"

"Chasing the raccoons off. They found their way into the vents, so he's clearing them out."

A loud grunt sounded from above, followed by furious hissing. Stan rolled his eyes and thumped his fist against the ceiling. "Soos! Don't break anything up there! And try not to get rabies!"

"_Got it!"_

Stan returned his attention to Wendy, who was idly observing him. "Have you seen Mabel?"

"Not this morning. Why?"

"She's sick and should be in bed. But I don't think that girl knows the meaning of the word rest."

Wendy tapped a finger against her chin thoughtfully. "Probably shouldn't tell you this, but I don't want her to get worse. I need my homies to hang with as soon as possible. She likes to hide in the cupboards when she doesn't want to be found."

"Should have known," he muttered. "Thanks, kid. If I'm not down here in twenty minutes, open up without me."

"If Soos brings the ceiling down, can I go home?"

"Nope. You'll get to help him fix it."

He left the shop and entered the kitchen. He bent down near the cupboard under the sink and yanked the wooden door open.

When light abruptly replaced the darkness, Mabel had to squint in order to see who had discovered her. She put on an innocent smile upon seeing her great-uncle scowling at her and held out her cardboard container of chocolate icing. "Breakfast?"

"Out."

Sighing, Mabel climbed out and placed her icing on the counter. Stan tore a paper towel from the roll on the table and scrubbed his niece's face with it. "Chocolate icing isn't exactly full of nutrients."

"No, but it's full of sugar!"

"Which is the last thing you need." Stan finished cleaning her face and gave her bottom a firm pat to propel her to the door. "Bed. I'll be up in a minute."

The girl shuffled from the kitchen and Stan made quick work of filling two glasses with orange juice. He also doused two cloths with cold water from the sink and carried the items up the stairs. When he entered the attic, it was to see Mabel trying to liberate her blanket from her brother's tight grasp.

"_Dipper."_

The boy peered sleepily at him from Mabel's bed. "Love you."

The smile surfaced before he could stop it. "In your own bed, runt, and stay there. If I have to tie you down, I will. Don't test me."

Dipper gave a sigh, but he climbed from his sister's bed and settled back in his own. He spotted the glasses of orange liquid in his uncle's grasp and brightened. He held out his hand and Stan placed the drink in his grasp. "Don't chug it," he warned. "Or else you'll be spewing orange gunk all over this place."

"'kay." Despite his burning throat, Dipper managed to take his time, slowly tipping the cold liquid into his mouth. Mabel took a sip, but her face twisted up in disgust and she set the glass aside.

Stan frowned in concern. "What's the matter?"

"Chocolate icing and orange juice don't go together," she informed, shuddering slightly.

"No kidding." Stan smirked. "But you're not getting milk. That's only going to thicken the phlegm in your throat."

He pulled the wool blanket from Mabel's bed and tucked it under one arm. He knew that Dipper would end up rolling himself in it, so it was best to remove it temporarily from their quarters. "I'll get some fleece blankets from the closet. You guys keep these on your foreheads for now. You want to get those fevers down."

The twins obliged, holding the dripping clothes to their sweaty foreheads. "What do you want for breakfast?" Stan asked.

Both screwed their faces up at the mention of food. Mabel was feeling worse due to her intake of icing, and Dipper, while he slept like no tomorrow when sick, had difficulty ingesting solids. "Not hungry," they said in unison.

"Alright, but you'll eat something for lunch," informed Stan sternly. "I'll be back with the fleece blankets."

Mabel nodded and rested against her pillow. Waddles gave a soft oink and climbed into her lap, giving her chin a comforting lick. "It's not fun being sick," she informed her pet, hugging him close. "You feel gross and green stuff comes out of your nose. Plus you feel like you're dying."

"I am dying," Dipper muttered from his bed, eyes half-lidded as sleep started to creep up on him once again.

"Go to sleep," urged Mabel. "Maybe you can sleep this one off."

"'kay." Dipper yawned and rolled over, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the shivers that racked his body. The cloth felt good against his forehead, water droplets coursing gently down his flushed face.

Stan returned with the thinner blankets. He draped one over Mabel and Waddles, and the other over Dipper, who was already half asleep. "I wish he would sleep this good all the time," Stan said, gently tucking the boy in.

"What am I supposed to do?" Mabel whined. "I'm not tired."

"Try to rest." Stan went over and adjusted the cloth on Mabel's forehead. "If you need something, come and get me. Or send Waddles. You can do that, right pig?"

Waddles _oinked _in confirmation, nuzzling Mabel's chin in affection.

"Are you gonna be working?" Mabel asked.

"Yeah. I got a few Mystery Tours today. If I'm out, Wendy or Soos will help you. I'll try to finish up early today."

"You don't have to do that," Mabel said quickly, suddenly feeling guilty. She knew he hated closing the Shack early, as it resulted in a loss of profit.

"Well, I am." Stan gave her nose a light tweak, and she giggled. "You and your brother get into enough trouble when you're healthy. I'm not leaving you alone longer than I need to if you're this sick."

"Could you tell us a story later?" Mabel asked hopefully. "If Dipper is awake?"

"Yeah," Stan conceded, knowing he was breaking his previous claim of never telling a bedtime story. Mabel grinned brightly, and he felt the need to warn, "Though it won't be good. I suck at story telling."

"You tell stories all the time to the tourists," she pointed out. "And they're great!"

"Thanks, squirt. I'll be back in a few hours. Rest and behave."

Mabel nodded and huddled under the covers. Stan left the attic, and she peeked over at her brother. He was sleeping soundly, hands clutching at the thin blanket draped over him.

"Just wait, bro. We're gonna annihilate this flu. Then we'll back with Grunkle Stan in the Shack in no time at all."


	3. Sick Days Are Lazy Days

**I do not own Gravity Falls.**

**Well, I'm sick, so I thought it would be fitting to update a chapter while I share the same symptoms as Dipper and Mabel.**

**Sick Days Are Lazy Days**

The hours dragged by, and Mabel spent those long minutes sprawled in her bed, fleece blanket draped over her middle and Waddles napping by her feet. When the taste of chocolate icing left her taste buds, she snagged her glass of orange juice and drank it greedily. But the liquid was now warm and did no good against her dry, burning throat.

Coughing from the uncomfortable sensation, Mabel rubbed the base of her throat gingerly. She was in dire need of a fresh drink…or a cough drop. Maybe both.

Rolling out of bed, she flinched as her feet struck the cold wooden floor. Shivering, she crept to the door, casting a quick glance at her snoozing brother as she went. He had wrapped himself up in the thin blanket, his breathing uneven and the cloth hanging halfway over his right eye.

Smiling at the sight, Mabel went downstairs and to the bathroom. She threw open the cabinets and rummaged through the contents, hoping to find a worn cardboard box of small red candy-like throat soothers.

"Darn," she whispered upon coming up empty. Pursing her lips, she tried to think of where they would be, but her throbbing head wouldn't let her think.

Hoping that Wendy and Soos might know, she made her way into the gift shop, where people jostled against each other for overpriced souvenirs. Mabel stood on her tiptoes and peered over the crowd, where she saw Wendy lazily cashing the customers out. "Wendy!"

What was supposed to be a yell came out as a soft rasp. Sighing, Mabel wrestled her way through the crowd of people, managing to avoid getting an elbow to the face. She emerged on the other side, panting slightly and sweating more than she was before.

"Mabel?" Wendy took notice of the twelve-year-old girl leaning against the register stand. "You're supposed to be in bed, dude."

"My throat is trying to kill me," the girl rasped, a pout on her lips. "I think I'm gonna lose my voice. And I _need _my voice! How am I supposed to spread my Mabel-ness if I can't talk?"

Wendy grinned. "You've got a bedazzling gun, a horde of stickers and a collection of communicative sweaters. I think you'll be able to communicate just fine. So whatcha need, babe?"

"Excuse me?" A customer on the other side of the till waved a wad of bills in front of Wendy's face. "I'd like to pay for these."

Annoyed, the redhead swatted his hand away. "Chillax, bro. I'll only be a sec. Those cheap-butt bobbleheads aren't going anywhere."

When Wendy turned back to face Mabel, the girl asked, "Do you know where Grunkle Stan keeps the cough drops?"

"No clue," admitted Wendy. "But Soos might know. _Soos! You done with raccoon hunting?"_

The large handyman walked in through the open gift shop door, scratched up but otherwise healthy. "They're out frolicking in the forest," he confirmed. "I'm gonna miss them. I felt connected with them. They like to eat, just like me."

"I'm sure they'll be back," dismissed Wendy. "Listen, can you show Mabel where the cough drops are? I can handle the fort down here."

"I got it covered."

Soos led Mabel into the main house and to the kitchen. The brunette watched as he opened up a drawer near the kitchen sink and removed an orange box of the desired drops. "I love these things. They're like candy, but not."

He popped one out and stuffed it into his mouth before handing the box to Mabel. "Thanks," she said gratefully.

"No prob. I'll walk you back upstairs. Y'know, to make sure you don't collapse or anything."

Soos walked with Mabel up to the attic. As the girl climbed into bed, he noticed her empty glass. "You want a refill, dude?"

"That'd be nice. If you don't mind."

"Course not." Soos collected the twins' drinking glasses and dried out washcloths. "Be back in a few."

As the large handyman left the attic, Mabel shoved her freezing feet back under the blanket and dumped a couple of cough drops into her mouth. "Mmmm," she sighed contentedly. "Cherry flavoured."

Waddle peered sleepily at the box of cough drops and nudged his owner's hand in curiosity. "Sorry, Waddles, but I don't think cough drops are for pigs."

She twisted over her shoulder to check on her brother. But Dipper was still sound asleep, sweat glistening on his brow. "Dipper," she called, hoping to coax him awake. "Dipper! Bro! Wake up! I'm bored!"

Raspy snores answered her.

Pursing her dry, cracked lips, Mabel chucked the cough drops at her brother. She scored a direct hit-the cardboard box struck him in the forehead. But it did not rouse him from slumber. He only grumbled and rolled over, tucking his head under his pillow.

Heaving a sigh, she flopped back against her bed. Waddles crawled onto her chest, nuzzling her cheek affectionately. "At least I have you for company, Waddles."

Soos soon returned with two glasses of orange juice and a pair of soaking wet cloths. He tended to Dipper first, rolling the boy carefully to his back and setting the cloth on his burning forehead. He then went over to Mabel, setting her juice on her nightstand table. "There you go, hambone."

"Thanks, Soos." Mabel accepted the cloth and dabbed it against her flushed face. "Do you hafta go back to the gift shop? Or can you hang for a bit?"

"I can hang. Wendy can handle the Shack for a mo." Soos settled on the edge of Mabel's bed. "What do you want to do?"

"Can we play cards?"

"Sure," agreed Soos. "But not Go Fish. I can never find the right fish."

…

The second Stan returned from his Mystery Tour he went to check on his niece and nephew. Upon reaching the attic abode, he found Dipper fast asleep and Mabel in an intense game of Crazy Eights with Soos.

"Last card!" Mabel said triumphantly, slapping down a three of diamonds.

Soos grinned and dropped his last two cards; a three of spades and a three of hearts. "Ha!"

"Noooo!" she wailed, flinging her card to the floor. "I call rematch!"

"You're gonna have to take a rain check on that rematch," interrupted Stan. "Mabel needs rest, and that's not gonna happen if you get her riled up over cards. Besides, you need to make sure Wendy doesn't take a nap at the register."

"Can do," said Soos. "See you later, hambone. Get well soon."

"I'll try," said Mabel.

The large handyman departed and Stan surveyed his charges. There didn't seem to be too much change in their condition, which was understandable. But what concerned him was the amount of sleep Dipper was getting.

"I'm all for resting when sick," said Stan, going over to the boy's bedside. "But I think this is overdoing it."

"He always sleeps a lot when he's sick," said Mabel, rolling over and peering at the two, hanging over the edge of her bed. "It's hard to get him out of bed."

"Well, you two need to eat, and I gotta take your temperatures again. Do you remember where the thermometers are?"

Mabel nodded.

"Go grab them for me. I already cleaned them, so don't worry about that."

"Did you clean them really good? I don't want to get Dipper's germs," said Mabel, climbing out of bed and shuffling for the door.

Stan snorted. "You have the same illness. I don't think it'd make too much of a difference."

"How do you know? You're not Dr. Grunkle Stan."

He rolled his eyes as his niece skipped from the attic. "Smart mouth." He knelt down and started shaking the boy's shoulder. "Kid, time to get up."

Dipper moaned softly and cracked his eyes open. "Not morning yet."

"It's _past _morning. Its late afternoon. You sleep anymore and you'll throw yourself into a coma."

With a great amount of effort, he sat up against his pillows. "Food?"

"Oh sure, you wake up and start making demands. Do you think just because you're sick I'm gonna wait on you hand and foot?"

"Uh-huh," said Dipper with his most innocent smile. "Chicken soup, please."

Stan shook his head and reached his hand out, smoothing Dipper's hair back. "In a minute, kid. We need to wait for your sister to get back with the thermometers."

"I'm sweaty," informed Dipper, rubbing at his forehead.

"No kiddin'. You don't smell so hot either. When's the last time you had a shower?"

Dipper pursed his lips in thought. "Dunno. You?"

"Don't be funny. Only I can be funny." Stan lightly knocked Dipper on the head.

"I'm funnier than both of you!"

Stan glanced over his shoulder as Mabel walked into the room, thermometers in hand. She stuck one under her tongue before handing the other to her brother, who copied her actions.

About a minute later they removed their thermometers, displaying the results to their great-uncle. "Not much change," he observed. "Alright, I'm gonna go make you some soup, and after that you'll take something to get those fevers down."

"And then you're gonna read us a story," added Mabel.

Stan rolled his eyes, a smile on his lips.

"Yeah. And then I'll read you a story. And then you both are gonna take a shower. Dipper smells like something that crawled out of the bottom of the dumpster."


	4. Story Time

**I do not own Gravity Falls.**

**Story Time**

Bowls of warm chicken soup in their hands, Dipper sat beside his sister in her bed, taking small sips and staring at his great-uncle expectantly. Mabel fed some noodles to Waddles between every spoonful she took for herself.

"Alright," said Stan, settling back against a chair. "What do you want the story to be about?"

"Whatever you want," said Mabel. "But it has to start with _once upon a time._"

"Okay, here goes. Once upon a time, there was a handsome man who lived near the woods. He ran a successful business and was raking in the cash from tacky tourists. His life was perfect. He was alone with few people to bother him. Then one day, he got a phone call."

Mabel stared with wide eyes. "Was the phone call from a murderer?"

"No, but it felt like he was about to walk to his death sentence after the conversation was over," said Stan. "The call was from his niece, stating that she wanted to send her two little brats over for the entire summer. Now, this handsome man didn't like kids all that much, and so he refused. But she was persuasive, and soon he found himself agreeing to watch over two pint-sized twerps for two whole months."

"Us?" questioned Dipper.

"Of course not you," said Stan dismissively. "I can't tell a story about you. It would be boring."

The boy stared at him dubiously, but did not speak further. Stan continued. "The handsome man didn't know what to do. He knew nothing about kids. Now he was expected to keep a pair for two months and send them back in one piece."

"Was he scared?" asked Mabel.

Stan snorted. "He wasn't scared of anything. He just wasn't sure of what to do. He figured he would wing it. So long as he fed them and gave them a place to sleep, they should be fine. The day arrived, and the two kids stepped off the bus, loaded with bags, looking just as unsure of the arrangement as I-uh, the handsome man was. That's when he felt a bit better. If they were nervous, then he could be nervous too. He set the kids up in the attic and let the town of Force Falls be their playground."

Dipper crossed his arms. "Us," he repeated.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"What were the names of the kids?" asked Mabel.

"Dapper and Fable."

The boy rolled his eyes. Stan frowned. "So I can't come up with names, big deal. Any coincidences should be ignored. Now zip it. Ahem. The handsome man was worried about how the kids would adjust, but soon discovered that he didn't need to worry. They made friends quickly with the employees that worked for him and adapted to life in Force Falls in little time. The handsome man also discovered that he could use the twerps as free work labour, and though they groaned, they helped out anyway."

"Did they like each other?" wondered Mabel.

"Fable, true to her nature, quickly attached to the handsome man. Even though she didn't know him very well, she was eager to get the chance, but loved him already."

"That sounds like me!" she exclaimed.

"Fancy that," muttered Dipper.

Stan shot him a glare. "_Coincidences. _Dapper was a bit wary of his great-uncle, however. He was starkly different from his sister, who was vibrant, outgoing and practically fearless. He wasn't as social and was more serious. The handsome man wasn't sure of Dapper, either. He thought the boy was too quick, too sharp, and that unnerved him."

Dipper smirked slightly, but Stan chose to ignore it. "Eventually, they warmed up to each other, and soon the handsome man couldn't imagine life without the brats. As much as they made him want to tear his hair out, they also amused him and made him laugh. Though they had a penchant for getting into trouble, he would admit that he fell into his fair share of scrapes as well. What he thought would be a long, awkward summer soon turned into possibly the greatest summer of the handsome man's life."

"What happened after summer?"

Stan felt his heart jump slightly, as he had asked himself the same question. "They lived happily ever after," he finally answered.

Mabel nodded slowly, her lips pursed. "What was the handsome man's name?"

"He didn't have one. He was too handsome for that."

Dipper snorted, accidently spewing out some broth in the process. "Oops," he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"That's gross. Now I'm going to have to clean these sheets," grumbled Stan. He inspected them closely and frowned. "Actually, that's not a bad idea. They look disgusting."

"We've been sweating like pigs and there's a pig that's been sweating," informed Mabel.

"See, that's why I tell you to make Waddles sleep on the floor."

"But the floor is cold."

"_You _sleep on the floor."

"Only sometimes," returned Mabel.

Stan shook his head. "Finish your soup. I'll be back with some medicine."

He left their attic abode and Mabel glanced at her brother. "Soup chugging contest?"

Dipper nodded, a determined glint in his eye. Mabel counted down. "One…two…three…_go!_"

In unison they lifted the rim of their bowls to their lips and started drinking the broth and slurping the noodles as fast as they could. Stan returned in time to see Dipper choking on a couple of noodles and Mabel pounding his back with one hand while she pumped the other in victory.

"I win!" she cheered. "Go me!"

"I left you alone for a few minutes!" snapped Stan, placing the bottle of pills on Mabel's nightstand and moving over to make sure his nephew was breathing again.

"Fine," wheezed Dipper, letting out a few coughs before letting out a sigh of relief. "Not dead."

"Yeah. I'd hate to have to explain to your parents that you died by choking on a noodle from chicken soup. What were you doing?"

"Soup chugging contest," informed Mabel.

Stan stared at the twins. "You're crazy."

Dipper nodded. "Maybe a little."

The two set their bowls aside and accepted the small white pills Stan gave them. "This should help with your fever," he informed.

They washed the pills down with a swig of orange juice. "Sleep now?" asked Dipper hopefully.

"Bath now," corrected Stan. "You guys stink."

"_I'm going first!" _hollered Mabel.

Dipper shrugged. "'kay."

His sister grabbed a change of pyjamas and hurried from the attic. Stan levelled a look at him. "I'm going to check on the store. Don't fall asleep."

Dipper gave off a salute. "Sir."

Stan went downstairs and entered the Mystery Shack. It was relatively crowded and Wendy was lazily cashing in the customers. Slipping on his eye-patch, he went over to the teenager. "How are the sales?"

"Good," she replied, bagging a snow globe and thrusting it out to the customer. "Soos didn't even break anything."

"The day isn't over yet," muttered Stan.

"How are the twins doing?"

"Still sick. Still a pain in my butt."

He spent ten minutes helping Wendy at the counter, mostly because he was certain she had been lax in charging customers and wanted to make up for the loss by overcharging the next batch of tourists that bought souvenirs.

A familiar cough suddenly caught his attention and he glanced up. Dipper shuffled across the shop, a blanket wrapped over his small body, his nose dripping and his face sweating. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "You should be resting."

"You said no sleeping," the boy replied.

"You can rest without sleeping, smart-aleck."

"How're you feeling, dude?" asked Wendy.

Dipper shrugged. "Eh."

Amused, the redhead glanced at her boss. "He's not very talkative when he's sick."

"Freaky, isn't it?" muttered Stan. He stared at his nephew. "Get back to the attic. Your sister should be done with her bath by now."

"No."

Stan's eyebrows flew up. "Excuse me? I don't care if you don't want one, you're having one if I have to hose you down myself. You've been sitting in your own sweat for two days. You reek."

"No," repeated Dipper, slightly annoyed. "Mabel flooded the bathroom."

Wendy burst into laughter as Stan all but flew from the shop. Dipper blinked after him before shaking his head.

_His fault. He should know by now not to leave Mabel unattended with massive amounts of bubble bath at her disposal._

But on the bright side, the downstairs now smelled like a strawberry field.


	5. Suds and Snot

**I do not own Gravity Falls.**

**So the newest episode was extremely awesome. Seriously can't wait for the next one.**

**Suds and Snot**

It took an hour for Stan to clean up the water and bubbles, returning the bathroom to its previous state before Mabel went crazy with the scented bubble bath. His niece was currently in the living room, watching a movie with her pet pig, clean and smelling sweet.

"Dipper!" hollered Stan, shoving the mop back in its bucket. "Your turn!"

The boy soon appeared in the doorframe of the downstairs bathroom, wearing his sweat-stained pajamas. Stan pointed at the bath. "Soak until you no longer feel like you used to live in a dumpster. I trust I don't need to tell you not to overdo it with the bubbles?"

Dipper nodded. "I got it."

"Good. I already put a towel on the hook for you and got you a washcloth."

"Thanks."

Stan brought the mop out of the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He went outside and emptied the bucket onto the grass before returning both items to the closet in the hall. "Well, that could have been worse," he muttered. "Could have been a flood of glitter instead of bubbles."

He entered the living room to see Mabel sitting his armchair, her pig resting by her feet. When the girl spotted him she said forlornly, "I'm sorry."

Her sad expression tugged at his heartstrings. "You've said that already. And what did I say?"

"That it was okay." Mabel brought her knees up to her chest, her frown still lingering. "I didn't mean to make a mess. I just wanted some bubbles."

"You definitely got your bubbles." Stan went over and lifted her up. He settled himself down and placed the small girl in his lap.

She snuggled against his chest. "I could have cleaned my mess."

Stan snorted. "You're sick. I'm not a slave driver. I can clean up some water."

"I feel bad sometimes," said Mabel softly, staring her hands. "I sometimes get too excited and make problems for you. I don't want to do that."

Stan adjusted Mabel so that she was facing him and looking into his eyes. "You want to know what a problem would be? A problem would be if you and your brother were disrespectful delinquents with no regards for the feelings of those around you. But guess what? We don't have that problem. We don't have a problem because you two are great kids who think about others and try really hard to be the best you can be."

Mabel smiled. "Really?"

"Yes, really. You're kids. You make messes. I'm a grumpy adult. I sometimes get annoyed with messes. That's how the world works. You're supposed to be a pain in my butt."

Mabel wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. "I love you."

"I love you too, runt." Stan playfully sniffed her long brown hair. "And you don't smell like sweat."

"I shouldn't. I used a lot of strawberry bubble bath."

"I noticed. You didn't even leave any for your brother."

Mabel stuck out her tongue. "Boo him. He can have the orange scented soap."

"How do you think he's doing?"

"Probably fell asleep."

"He wouldn't."

But then a picture of his ill-ridden nephew filled his mind; a sniffling little boy whose eyes seemed to be permanently half-lidded and wanted to spend his days wrapped up in a blanket, snoozing away.

"Dang it," he grumbled, climbing to his feet. He adjusted his grip on Mabel, so that the girl was held against his side. "Let's go make sure your brother hasn't drowned."

He made his way to the downstairs bathroom and Mabel rapped sharply on the wooden door. "Bro! You alive?"

There was no answer, and Stan wasted no time in barging into the small space. "Told you so," said Mabel cheerfully.

Her great uncle could only stare. Dipper, surrounded by sweet-smelling foam that reached his chin, was resting against the back of the tub, eyes closed and his chest rising and falling gently. His brunette locks were bone dry, which meant the child had fallen asleep the second he got comfortable in the tub.

"At least he turned the water off before he went to Dreamland," said Mabel optimistically.

"Small miracles," grumbled Stan. He set his niece down and nudged her in the direction of the doorway. "Go watch your movie."

"Okie dokie," she said cheerfully.

She dashed out, closing the door behind her. Stan picked up the plastic pitcher that rested on the edge of the bathtub and filled it with cold water from the sink tap. Without mercy, he upended it over Dipper's head.

Jolting awake the second the icy water hit his warm skin, Dipper spluttered and sat up, bubbles flying as his hands moved to scrub the water from his eyes. "Grunkle Stan!"

"Don't 'Grunkle Stan' me! You're supposed to be bathing."

"I am," mumbled Dipper, sinking into the lukewarm water.

"Sleeping in a bathtub does not equate to bathing," said Stan dryly. He reached over and snagged the shampoo bottle from the shower shelf.

"I can do it!" protested Dipper, reaching for the plastic bottle as much as he could without leaving his protective shield of bubbles.

"I don't think so. The last thing I need is for you to take a prolonged water nap." Stan poured some shampoo into his hands. "Sit up, squirt."

Dipper obeyed, and soon the lathered soap was being massaged into his damp brown locks. The soothing sensation caused his eyes to droop. "Feels nice," he muttered.

Stan rolled his eyes. "I'm sure it does."

After he was satisfied with the amount of suds in the boy's hair, he rinsed them off before continuing with the conditioner. Dipper hummed softly, his hands forming shapes in the thick layer of bubbles around him while he waited for his great-uncle to finish.

"There," grumbled Stan, using the pitcher to get out the last of the conditioner. "Now your hair no longer looks like a grease pit. You got five minutes to finish washing up. If I don't hear the sound of draining water at that time, I'm coming back in here, and this time with a bucket of ice."

"Got it."

Stan departed the bathroom and returned to the living room. Mabel was once more glued to the television screen, leaning against Waddles on the floor. "So you're less energetic when you're sick, and Dipper is less talkative when _he's _sick."

"That about sums it up," said Mabel cheerfully. "Our personalities flip backwards every time we get the bug. It's kinda freaky and cool at the same time."

Stan settled into his armchair. "If Dipper isn't down in five minutes, I give you permission to attack him with ice water."

"Ooh." Mabel rubbed her hands together gleefully. "I hope he falls asleep again! I can add food colouring to the water! Pink! Purple! Green!"

"Unfortunately for you, and fortunately for me, we don't have food colouring. So there goes your idea."

To Mabel's disappointment and Stan's satisfaction, Dipper came downstairs exactly five minutes later. His hair was damp and he was in a fresh pair of pajamas. His fleece blanket was wrapped around his body and he took a seat beside his sister.

Craning his neck up to look at his great-uncle, he asked, "Happy?"

"Very." Stan nudged the boy lightly with his foot. "Now I don't feel the urge to faint whenever I come within smelling distance."

"Ha ha. So funny," he muttered in response.

"I'm a natural born comedian," returned Stan.

Dipper shook his head and stared at the movie playing on the screen, trying to ignore the shivers that travelled down his small frame. He was getting very tired of this fever, along with the other symptoms. He wanted to stop sleeping through most of the day, he wanted to stop coughing so hard it felt like a lung would escape, and he wanted to stop sneezing-

"_Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!"_

As the thought crossed his mind his nose went haywire, and he launched into a series of sneezes. The last one was a mighty one, sending a glob of green snot flying across the room and landing smack-dab in the middle of the television screen.

Mabel instantly burst into laughter, which quickly turned into a bout of hacking coughs. Dipper blinked and blushed. "Oops."

Stan stared blankly at the obstruction on the screen. "I'm not touching that."


	6. When Headaches Attack

**I do not own Gravity Falls.**

**I think this story will reach its end at ten chapters. So if there's a specific moment you'd like me to include within the next batch of chapters, feel free to let me know through review or PM.**

**Before the next chapter is put out, the goal is for this story to hit 40 reviews. **

**When Headaches Attack**

"_Ugh…ugh…"_

Mabel stirred slowly, hands moving to cup her pounding head. Slightly dazed, she momentarily forgot where she was and sat up. The world moved sharply with her, causing her stomach to jolt violently. Whimpering, she tried to ignore the pain and focus on her surroundings.

She was in her attic abode, and she could make out Dipper snoring under his covers. She could dimly remember watching television with Stan, and then she supposed they had gotten shooed up to their bedroom at some point.

Waddles oinked softly, nudging Mabel's hand in concern as the girl swayed on the edge of her bed. Managing a smile, she stroked his head. "I'm fine," she whispered. "Just having a small explosion occurring in my head."

The pain was horrible. White spots danced in her vision and every little movement caused her stomach to twist and turn. Slowly, she climbed out of bed and inched her way across the hardwood floor. She reached the stairs, and she made the mistake of looking down.

Mabel dropped to her knees, pressing her hands tightly over her mouth to keep the bile from escaping. After a few shuddering breaths, she slid down the steps, one at a time. Each bounce only increased the pain, and she wished she could rip her head off her shoulders for some relief.

She finally reached the downstairs. Gripping her head, she stumbled down the hall and to her great-uncle's room. She crept up to his bedside, where the man was snoring loudly. "Grunkle Stan, please wake up," she whispered, shaking him slightly. "Please wake up."

It took a few shakes, but eventually her voice and sharp nudges roused him from slumber. Grunting, he rolled over and cracked his eyes open. He was immediately greeted with the sight of his niece clutching her head, cheeks wet with tears.

Stan hastily sat up, his covers flying to one side. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm sorry to wake you up, but I think there's a supernova happening inside my head," she said softly.

Her knees buckled then and Stan caught her before she struck the ground. He gently lifted her up and set her in his bed. He rested his rest against the girl's forehead. While it was warm, it was no hotter than it had been previously.

"Looks like you got a flu headache," said Stan. He arranged some covers around the girl and stood up. "I'll be back soon. Just close your eyes and breathe."

Mabel obeyed, sealing her eyes shut and taking slow, shuddering breaths. There was a sharp ache on one side of her head, as if something was trying to break free.

_Maybe it'll be like that one movie where an alien baby burst out of that girl's stomach._

But the mental image only brought about another lurch of the stomach, and Mabel bit down on her lip so that she would not spew chunks all over her great-uncle's sheets.

Something frigid soon rested against her forehead, the cold giving her aching head a wonderful relief. Mabel touched the soaked cloth resting against her flesh and peeled her eyes open again. "Thanks."

"Sit up for me, kid," said Stan, pouring two tablets out of the plastic container into his hand.

Mabel obeyed, but with a whimper. "Hurts."

Stan felt his heart squeeze at the pitiful expression on her face. He hated seeing her in pain, especially when there wasn't very much he could do about it. "I know it does, sweetie. Take these, and in a few minutes they should help."

The twelve-year-old accepted the pills and a glass of water. She washed them down and handed the glass back to Stan, and he set it down on his oak nightstand table. "Are you gonna need a bucket or something?" he asked.

"No, I'm fine," she said, which was mostly true. So long as she sat still and didn't think unpleasant thoughts, her stomach would cooperate. "Thanks for letting me sleep with you."

"Yeah, well, just don't think you're going to get to do this all the time," he grumbled, sliding back into bed.

Mabel smiled slightly, but did not argue. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the cool moisture as it soothed the pain in her forehead. She cuddled against Stan's side, her small arms wrapping around one of his large ones.

"Love you," she murmured before the bliss of sleep finally claimed her.

Stan couldn't stop the fond smile from curling across his aged face. "Love you too, squirt."

…

The call of nature caused Dipper to stumble from his warm bed, hair sticking out at odd ends. He went for the door, pausing for a moment when found Waddles in Mabel's bed, but no Mabel.

"Hope she doesn't take long," he muttered, thinking that his sister had beat him to the bathroom a few minutes before.

He went down the stairs and came upon an open bathroom door. Blinking in confusion, he didn't get long to think. He quickly darted in and shut the door behind him, figuring he would search for his sister after he finished his business.

Five minutes and a set of clean hands later, Dipper wandered from room to room in search of his sister. His eyes were half-lidded and he walked with a heavy weight in his step. But he ignored his exhaustion, for he would not be able to sleep comfortably if he didn't know where Mabel was.

After doing a lap around the house, Dipper still couldn't find his sister. He looked out the window into the dark night, wondering if she had gone sleepwalking.

Brow furrowing in concern, he hurried to his great-uncle's bedroom. He opened the door and rushed in, only to slide to a stop when he discovered his twin sleeping soundly in Stan's bed.

"Mystery solved," he said happily.

He thought about heading back to the attic, but it was long trip and he was cold and tired. But he also didn't think his great-uncle would appreciate him disrupting his sleep.

"How long are you gonna stand there for?"

Dipper looked up with a surprised expression. Stan was staring at him tiredly from his bed, eyes squinting through the darkness. "Couldn't find Mabel, but then I did," he replied. "Now I wanna join the sleepover."

Stan sighed softly, but wiggled over to make room for his nephew. Dipper brightened and eagerly climbed onto the mattress, snuggling under the covers. "Thanks."

"Don't get used to it," grumbled Stan. "Now let a guy sleep."

It did not take long for Dipper to fall to sleep. It took Stan a little longer, but he too disappeared off to dreamland, lulled to slumber by the soft breathing of his niece and nephew, tucked cozily on either side of him.


	7. Into the Woods

**I do not own Gravity Falls.**

**You give me my request of 40 reviews, and I deliver upon you a chapter! Seriously, thanks for reviewing. It really means a lot to know what you think, and your feedback is greatly appreciated. **

**Into the Woods**

Mabel's headache ebbed away by morning, and the twins were sitting in the kitchen, playing a game of cards. They were tired of sitting about their room, so they relocated for a change of scenery.

"Got any threes?" asked Mabel, peering intently at her cards.

Dipper shook his head. "Go Fish."

Mabel snagged a card from the pile in the middle of the table. She leaned forward and placed her lips on the plastic straw sticking out of her glass, taking a few quick sips of her orange juice. Dipper scanned his cards for a moment before saying, "Got any aces?"

"Drat." Mabel frowned and tossed the Ace of Hearts and the Ace of Spades at her brother. "I think you cheat."

"Not me," replied Dipper, collecting his cards. "Um…got any fours?"

"Dang it!" His sister pouted and shoved more cards over to him. Dipper grinned and started arranging his pairs in front of him.

"I'm winning."

"I've still got cards, therefore I've still got a chance. If you screw up, that is. But if you keep going on a roll then I might as well fold in."

_Bam!_

The twins jumped in surprise and shock as a furry bundle skittered into the kitchen, shrieking madly. Dipper hastily climbed onto the kitchen table and snagged his sister by the back of her pajama shirt so that she would not attempt to approach it.

"It's a raccoon!" exclaimed Mabel, peering at the animal as it raced around in a confused daze. "I wonder where it came from. Wait, is it holding a book?"

Dipper blinked and noticed that the raccoon was indeed dragging a familiar leather-bound book with it across the tiled floor. "It's the journal!" he yelped, the golden six-fingered hand flashing at him. "Evil raccoon!"

He let go of his sister and jumped from the table. The raccoon spotted the oncoming preteen and took off, smashing through the mesh screen in the door and streaking across the green grass. Dipper shoved the door open and went after the animal in hot pursuit.

"Dipper!" cried Mabel, hurrying after her brother. She stumbled to a halt on the porch, where she could see two figures crashing through the forest. But they were moving at a quick speed and she would not be able to catch up.

The brunette bit her lip in concern. "Gee, I hope he comes back soon." Her gaze lifted to the grey sky. "It looks like it's gonna rain soon."

She teetered on the edge of the porch and listened intently. But she could not hear her brother's indigent shouts or the raccoon's panicked noises. Everything was rather silent, with the exception of a few chirps of the woodland birds.

"They didn't waste any time," she couldn't help but marvel. "Dipper really loves that journal. He never moves that fast when he's sick. Guess he found his second wind. I hope he has a third wind to ride home."

A soft drizzle started to fall from the sky, the clear drops forming a gentle mist that blanketed the sleepy forest landscape. The concern bubbled up again and Mabel took a few steps onto the wet grass, squinting at the treeline of the forest. But her hopes of seeing her twin come stumbling out of the leaves, panting and holding his journal to his chest dwindled as the silence stretched on.

_Should I go after him? What if he comes back while I'm out looking for him? Maybe I should wait a little bit longer and then if he doesn't come back, I'll go out on a search._

"What are you doing out here, kid?"

Mabel whirled around in surprise. Her great-uncle stood on the porch, a frown on his face as he stared down at her. His gaze flicked over to his damaged screen door and he added, "And what the heck did you do to my door?"

"It was a raccoon," informed Mabel.

"Ugh, those pests. Guess Soos didn't chase them all away."

"It's gone now."

"I can see that. Will you get inside? It's raining and you're gonna get worse if you stay out here." Stan's frown suddenly sharpened and he snapped his eyes around the yard. "Wait, where's your brother?"

Mabel pointed at the forest. "The raccoon took his journal and he went after it."

Stan felt his heart miss a few beats. "Dipper's out _there_?"

"Uh-huh. Can we go find him?"

"I'll go find him," said Stan, using one hand to firmly push his niece back into the house. "Watch a movie or something. I'll be back in a bit. Don't leave this house. If you need anything, go bug Wendy."

"Good luck!" called Mabel before she disappeared inside.

Stan stepped into the soaked grass, making quick tracks for the forest. He picked his way through the leaves and mud, peering through the wet haze in intent search for his nephew. _"Dipper! Kid! Answer me!"_

But there only the sounds of nature. Stan scowled, knocking aside a set of branches. "Stupid journal," he muttered bitterly. "Always giving me grief one way or another…"

He had seen the possessive, protective way Dipper treated _Journal #3. _He hadn't wanted to return the mystical book back to the boy, but he knew that the twins would be better protected with it in their possession, even if it unnerved him. He hoped they would have been smarter than to let the secrets consume them.

And he had prayed that Dipper would have been smarter with the journal than a certain someone he once knew rather well a long time ago.

A horrible twisting feeling gripped his stomach, as the magic of the woods and the dangers that lurked within came to the forefront of his mind. And there was Dipper, in the lowest peak of his condition, stumbling around with very little way to protect himself.

"_DIPPER! WHERE ARE YOU?"_

"Grunkle Stan?"

The call was hoarse and weak, but it was enough to catch Stan's attention. Swivelling on his heel, Stan followed the sound of the small cry. "Kiddo?"

"Over here!"

Stan pushed his way through a section of thick leaves, grunting as a branch caught him across the cheek. Ignoring the thin, stinging cut, Stan focussed on his nephew.

The boy was crouched on the muddy ground, in an awkward position due to the fact his right ankle was caught between two gnarled aboveground roots. His dark blue flannel pajama bottoms were stuck to his legs and his bare feet were all scratched up, dark red cuts staining the pale flesh. He still had his blanket with him, the light red fleece fabric over his head like a makeshift umbrella. The material was damp and sagging from moisture, and his arms were covered in goosebumps from the chill. While his right leg was bent in an uncomfortable position, his other leg was used as a support to keep him off the ground as much as possible.

And there was _Journal #3_, pressed protectively between his left knee and his chest.

"Grunkle Stan," whimpered Dipper, tears of relief and pain forming in his eyes.

"Hold on, sport." Stan moved over to the twelve-year-old and, with a few grunts, managed to pull the roots up enough to allow Dipper to slip his ankle free.

"Ouch," he muttered, gingerly massaging his sore ankle.

"Come on, let's get your stupid butt home."

Dipper flinched. "I-"

"We'll talk when I'm certain you're not going to succumb to hypothermia." Stan stood up, brushing the dirt and leaves from his pants. "Can you walk?"

Dipper carefully stood up and immediately started to wobble. He was cold and tired and sore and in no shape to be walking in a straight line. Stan bent down and lifted the boy up, holding him close to his shoulder.

"Sorry," he whispered, staring at the ground in shame as his great-uncle started to walk back towards the Mystery Shack.

"You should be," grumbled Stan. "Nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Really?"

Stan arched an eyebrow at the tone of surprise. "You're ailing from a fever and you decide to take off into the woods just as it starts to rain. I didn't know how long it would take me to find you. So yes, you gave me a scare. What, did you think I'd just let you gallivant off?"

He did not receive an answer, so he gave Dipper's blanket, which was now draped over his head, a tug. "I asked a question, kiddo."

"Didn't think you care," the boy said softly. "You don't normally mind whenever we go into the forest. And you don't worry about me the way you worry about Mabel."

Stan attempted to lean back so that he could make eye contact with his nephew, but the boy suddenly had an iron grip on his damp tuxedo. "Runt, I don't normally mind when you go do whatever you do in this place because you're healthy and not likely to collapse from exhaustion and illness. And I worry about Mabel more than I worry about you because, come on, she tried to fly a week ago. She literally tried to fly. I think I lost a few years off of my life when I saw her jumping off the roof."

Dipper smiled slightly. "She had her grappling hook as a backup."

"Still don't know how I feel about her having that. But I'm sure you see my point. I don't think you're inclined to fling yourself off of a high place to join the geese."

"Not anytime soon."

"And that's why I don't have to worry about you. I love your sister, but she frightens me sometimes. I count on you to watch over her." Stan paused for a moment before adding, "But that doesn't mean I care about you less than I care about her. You're both pain in my butts."

A warm feeling spread through Dipper's stomach, dispelling some of the cold he was feeling. "I love you too."

They reached the Mystery Shack and Stan brought Dipper to the living room. Mabel brightened at the sight of her brother and eagerly reached out. "Bro bro!"

Stan set the boy down in the chair beside Mabel and she happily hugged him. "I'm wet," protested Dipper, though he welcomed the embrace.

"I know. You kinda smell too."

"Which means you're going back in the bath. But first I wanna say something." Stan knelt down so that he was at eye level with the twins. He pointed at the leather-bound book clutched in Dipper's hands. "This should not be cause for you to abandon all common sense."

"Sorry," said Dipper sheepishly. "It's just…it's important."

"It's not important enough to hold over your own wellbeing. Promise me that."

Mabel and Dipper exchanged a glance. Stan's tone was serious, and there was an emotion on his face that they couldn't quite identify. Though Dipper understood that his attachment to _Journal #3 _might be some cause for concern, especially after the stupid stunt he pulled, so he would write off his great-uncle's behaviour as concern.

"Promise," he agreed.

"Double promise!" added Mabel.

Stan nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Let's get you cleaned up, sport."

Dipper abandoned his soaked blanket and damp journal with Mabel. He reached his arms up and Stan shook his head fondly as he took the small boy back in his arms.

"You and your sister. You're both going to make me go soft."

"Too late!" hollered Mabel. "You stood no chance against our adorable and cute charm!"

Dipper wound his arms around Stan's neck. "You really didn't."


	8. Tuna Equals Nausea

**I do not own Gravity Falls.**

**Two chapters left! Leave a review and let me know what you think of this chapter.**

**Tuna Equals Nausea **

"How long have we been dying?"

Mabel rolled over on her bed, tangling herself in her blanket in the process. She hung upside-down off the edge of her bed as she looked at her brother. "A week, I think. But I haven't looked at a calendar in forever. I don't think I remember what month it is."

Dipper's forehead creased in concern. "I don't remember either."

"Important thing is that it's still summer." Mabel attempted to remove the blanket from her body, though it was difficult since it held one of her arms down to her side. "We just have to make sure we get better so we don't miss out on any more of it."

After a week, the twins were slowly gaining back their energy. Dipper was starting to talk in full sentences again and Mabel was able to run from one room to another without rapidly losing energy. Their fevers had finally disappeared, but the muscle aches, clogged sinuses, sore throats and coughs still lingered. Occasionally Mabel was plagued by a horrendous headache and Dipper was assaulted with a churning stomach.

Mabel's stomach gave off a demanding growl as she finally kicked off her clingy blankets. She gave it a pat. "I hear you, Mr. Rumbly Tummy. It's feeding time!" She stepped down to the cold attic floor and looked at her brother, who was curled up in his covers. "You hungry?"

"Depends on what you're going to offer me," said Dipper with a yawn, peering past his bangs to stare at his sister.

"I'm gonna make a sandwich," she decided. "Peanut butter and jelly. What do you want?"

"Uh…I dunno. Whatever is there, I guess. But no peanut butter. Don't feel like peanut butter."

"You got it, bro-bro."

Mabel skipped down the stairs and made her way to the kitchen. She glanced at the clock to see that it was noon. Her great-uncle was probably in the middle of a tour right now, which meant she could make as much of a mess as she wanted.

"Peanut butter jelly time, peanut butter jelly time," she chanted as she moved about the kitchen, removing the necessary items from the cupboards and fridge. She arranged everything out on the countertop and started making her creations.

She started with her sandwich, slathering butter, smooth peanut butter and strawberry jelly on two pieces of bread. She slapped the halves together and wasted no time in biting into it, jelly dripping down her hands.

"Mmm," she mumbled happily, taking another large bite. "Num nums for the tum-tum."

"What are you doing?"

Mabel glanced over her shoulder in surprise. Stan stood in the entryway to the kitchen, eye-patch in place, which told the girl he must have had a shorter tour than usual that day. "What?" she asked, spewing a few chunks of soggy bread in the process.

"Your stomach is not strong enough to deal with such rich foods," snapped Stan, crossing his arms.

She swallowed her food and protested, "But I'm hungry!"

"Then have some soup or something."

"I'm tired of soup. I need variety."

Stan shook his head in exasperation, knowing when he was facing a losing battle. "If you get sick later, don't complain."

She flashed a thumbs-up. "Got it. What are you doing?"

"Came to check on you runts before my next show. How's Dipper?"

"Curled up in bed. But he's not sleeping."

"That's an improvement. And at least you're dressed," he added, glancing at the dark green sweater that had a four-leaf clover knitted to the front and pair of shorts she sported.

"We were running out of pajamas, so we figured we ought to change before we run out."

"Smart idea. I'm heading off, then. If you need anything, bother Wendy or Soos."

"Okie-dokie."

Stan nodded and headed back to work. Mabel polished off the rest of her sandwich and rinsed her hands under the sink tap. "Time to make Dipper's yummy lunch."

Since he did not want the classic peanut butter and jelly, she put away her supplies before starting a search for new ingredients. Inspiration struck her when she found a can of tuna in one of the cupboards. "Dipper likes tuna," she decided and skipped over to the fridge to retrieve some mayonnaise, cheese and lettuce. She made her brother's sandwich and cut it in the shape of a (slightly uneven) heart.

"A masterpiece!" she declared, transferring the sandwich to a plate and doing a quick clean up. She poured a glass of orange juice and carried both items up the stairs and into the attic. "Bro, lunch is served!"

"What is it?" Dipper asked, sitting up against his pillows and squinting at the plate.

"Tuna."

Dipper pursed his lips and focussed on his stomach. It wasn't rejecting the smell of tuna, nor did the sight of the sandwich turn him off. "My stomach approves. Thanks." He accepted the plate and set his drink on his nightstand table.

"It's in the shape of a heart," said Mabel cheerfully, curling back up in her bed. "It means I loooove yoooou."

"I can see that," said Dipper in amusement. "I love you too. In appreciation of this sandwich, I will take a big bite." He proceeded to do just that.

Yawning, Mabel rolled over and drew her covers up over her body. "I'm gonna take a nap," she mumbled, eyes closing.

Dipper grunted in response, unable to answer due to the fact his mouth was full of food. After a few minutes he finished his lunch and put his empty dishes on his nightstand. He happily curled up in his blanket, thinking his sister had the right idea.

…

Dipper wasn't sure what time it was when he suddenly catapulted out of bed, stomach churning violently. He was still half-asleep, fumbling to untangle himself from his blanket as he started to taste the tuna in his throat, threating to leave his body completely.

Keeping his teeth clenched shut, the disoriented boy finally freed himself and fell from his bed, striking the hardwood floor. Ignoring the throbbing in his elbow, he pressed both hands firmly over his mouth and tried to gain control over his body. But his stomach wasn't listening and he threw up his lunch, right beside his bed.

"Not good," he gagged, feeling both disgusted, panicked and humiliated by the mess on his bedroom floor. Stumbling to his feet, he grabbed hold of the bucket that rested between his bed and his sister's. The girl was still sleeping, unaware of the discomfort her brother was currently in.

He vomited into the bucket, his throat burning as his lunch made the trip back up. His chest clenched and he struggled to breath. Climbing shakily to his feet, he kept the bucket close to his mouth as he stumbled down the stairs. He managed to make it to the bathroom as another bout of nausea overtook him.

Hunched over the toilet, he expelled the contents from his stomach, entire body shaking from the effort. Tears of pain rolled down his cheeks, his white-knuckled hands clutching the sides of the porcelain tightly. He wanted to call out for his great-uncle, but he was in no state to muster words, let alone yell.

Heavy footsteps sounded in his direction and soon Stan appeared in the doorway, face crinkled in concern. Dipper turned his head slightly and managed to croak, "Grunkle Stan" in relief.

Stan hurried over and knelt by his nephew's side. "You're alright, kid."

"Hurts," he whimpered.

"It'll be over in a minute," Stan soothed, rubbing gentle, steady circles in Dipper's back. He did not move from his position until the twelve-year-old settled back, panting heavily.

"Has it passed?"

Dipper took a few deep, shuddering breaths. It seemed that there was nothing left to upchuck, for which he was greatly relieved. He moved over and sagged against the bathtub, scrubbing the tears from his cheeks. "Uh-huh."

Stan removed a wad of toilet paper and used it to clean up Dipper's face. "I'm going to take a guess and say that Mabel made you lunch."

Dipper nodded.

"Peanut butter and jelly?" Stan asked in exasperation, leaning over and flushing the toilet. He tossed the soiled toilet paper in the garbage and helped Dipper sit on the edge of the tub.

"Tuna," corrected Dipper, idly rubbing at his sore stomach through his orange shirt.

Stan stared. "Tuna. You're ill and you ate a tuna sandwich."

"In retrospect, not the smartest idea."

"You kids kill me."

"I made a mess in the attic," said Dipper softly. "Sorry. I can clean it."

"Don't be dumb. You couldn't help it. I'll clean it. You sit here and wait until I come back." Stan lifted up the bucket to bring outside so he could clean it later.

"Okay." Dipper watched his great-uncle leave the bathroom. Folding his hands over his lap, he concentrated on his breathing so he could calm himself. His chest still hurt a bit, but his throat wasn't burning anymore (though the awful taste still lingered).

Stan returned a few minutes later with a cold cloth. "Here, sport."

Dipper held it against his forehead. "Is Mabel still sleeping?"

"Yeah. But that means she probably won't be getting much sleep tonight, which is not good news for me." Stan studied Dipper intently. "You feeling better?"

"Much," assured Dipper, standing up.

"Brush your teeth. I'll bring you back to bed."

The boy put his cloth down for a moment so that he could scrub his teeth and tongue clean. When he was finished, Stan picked the child up and carried him up the stairs. "Thanks," Dipper mumbled, snuggling into the man's shoulder.

"For what?"

"For taking care of us."

"It's my job, runt." Stan ruffled his brown hair playfully. "Even though you drive me insane."

"You're no picnic to live with yourself," pointed out Dipper.

"Don't sass me. I do the sassing around here."


	9. Cures For Boredom

**I do not own Gravity Falls.**

**NEW EPISODE COMING IN A FEW WEEKS I CAN'T WAAAIIIITTTT.**

**A-hem. So…yeah. Super excited.**

**Cures For Boredom**

When Dipper finally woke up the following morning, it was to see his sister sitting on the hardwood floor, surrounded by piles of pillows. There were large ones, square ones, small ones and round ones. Yawning, the boy sat up and rubbed at his eyes.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Mabel looked over at him with a bright smile. "Perfect timing, bro! I was just about to start constructing the pillow fort."

"You must have gotten every pillow in the house."

"I did!"

Dipper climbed out of bed, his white sleep shirt sticking to his back with sweat. "Okay. Least it will give us something to do."

They spent the next hour or so meticulously piling pillows and supporting against them against boxes and stacks of books. Mabel used the blankets and draped them overtop the fort, creating a ceiling. Dipper stepped back and studied their creation.

Two walls of pillows stretched in between their beds. There was a small hole that they could use as an entrance, and the blankets draped over top would block out the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

"It's perfect!" Mabel grinned. "We can have breakfast inside it!"

Dipper wrinkled his nose. "Uh, I think I'll stick with orange juice."

"Boring. I'm gonna have waffles."

She skipped out of the room and Dipper crawled inside the fort, careful not to jostle the wall. He sprawled out on the floor, enjoying the cold that seeped through. He was starting to feel better, no longer feeling nauseous, which he was grateful for.

Mabel returned a few minutes later, carrying a wooden tray. Dipper sat up and accepted his glass of orange juice. "Thanks." He took a sip and looked at her breakfast, which was two waffles with blueberry faces and doused in syrup.

"Jealous?" she asked, cutting off a piece with her fork and popping it in her mouth.

"No way. I'm taking it easy with food until I'm certain I'm not going to upchuck it."

"I hope we get over this dumb cold soon." Mabel pouted. "I'm tired of staying inside."

"Me too," agreed Dipper.

"What could we do today?" hummed Mabel, taking another bite of her waffles.

"Read?" suggested Dipper.

"Nah."

"Watch T.V?"

"I'm kinda tired of watching T.V."

"Videogames?"

"You always win. It's no fun."

Dipper sighed. "Then what do _you _want to do?"

Mabel thought for a moment, nibbling on a blueberry. Her face suddenly brightened. "Ooh, I know what we can do!"

Dipper eyed her nervously, for she was wearing the expression that often promised something was about to happen that he wasn't going to like. "What?"

"I can paint your nails." She pointed at his toes. "I've always wanted to."

"No!" protested Dipper.

"Aw, come on! What are you gonna instead?"

"Read."

Mabel huffed. "Pleeeease? You can take it off as soon as I'm done, swear."

"No."

"Fine. Then I'll do it by force. You don't have the energy to fight me off this time."

Dipper's shoulders slumped. "Fine," he grumbled. "But _no one _will know about this."

Mabel used her finger to draw an invisible cross over her heart. "Promise!"

They stored their empty dishes in the corner of their fort and Mabel ventured out to find her nail polish bag. She crawled under her bed, sneezing at the dust, and grabbed her small pink bag. "Hi, Waddles!" she greeted, seeing her pig standing in the doorway when she emerged. "Come into the fort with us!"

Waddles snorted and went into the tent, where he immediately settled down next to Dipper. Mabel entered after her pet and poured her collection of glass bottles of nail polish onto the floor. "Pick whatever colour you like!"

"Gee, thanks," muttered Dipper. He studied the shades, avoiding pink completely. He eventually settled on a light blue polish that wasn't too bright or noticeable. It was also the only nail polish his sister owned that didn't have sparkles in it.

"Good choice!" approved Mabel.

She spent the next ten minutes carefully running the small brush over her brother's short nails. Dipper sat in a sullen silence, lips turned downwards. _I can't believe I agreed to this. _

But, then again, he had no doubt that his sister was serious in her threat to force the nail polish on him. So it was best to comply and save himself from extra humiliation.

_Sisters. Bah._

…

When Stan finished up his last tour of the day, he suddenly realized he had not heard a peep from his niece and nephew. Brow furrowed, he went up to the register, where Wendy was lazily cashing out the last customer.

"Have you seen Mabel or Dipper today?"

"Nope," she replied. "And it's been real boring without them."

"Huh. Guess they're resting." But he could not knock the sudden urge to check up on the twins. "Lock up down here. And don't steal from the cooler-I know how many sodas there are in there."

"Yeah, yeah," dismissed Wendy. "I got it."

Stan departed from the shop and paused by his bedroom to drop off his cane, eye-patch and fez. He went up the attic stairs and knocked on the door. "Yo, you alive in there?"

"Yup!" came Mabel's cheerful voice.

Dipper only grunted in response.

Stan pushed open the door, where he was immediately greeted by a massive pillow fort in the middle of the room. "What the heck?"

"Welcome to Fort Twin-Twin!" said Mabel from inside the fort.

"Are those my couch cushions?" demanded Stan, noticing the familiar square, dark green cushions lodged in the middle of the wall.

"Maybe."

Getting down on his knees with a grunt, Stan crawled over and paused in the opening of Fort Twin-Twin. Mabel and Dipper were locked in a game of cards, with the girl leaning against Waddles. There were sticky dishes stuffed in the corner of the fort and a giant bowl of potato chips.

But what immediately caught Stan's attention was his nephew, whose fingernails and toenails were painted a gentle shade of blue. Dipper refused to look up from his hand, but his cheeks were turning a dull red.

"…Mabel, what did you do to your brother?"


	10. Full Recovery

**I do not own Gravity Falls.**

**So we've reached the final chapter. I certainly didn't expect for this story to get as many faves and follows as it has. Thank you, for all your lovely comments and support. I appreciate it.**

**Goal: Think we can send this story off by hitting ninety reviews? **

**Full Recovery**

"_Mabel! Stop hogging the whipped cream!"_

"_I got it first!"_

These shouts sounded a week later, rousing Stan from his slumber. With an irritated grunt, he noticed that it was nine in the morning, a time in which he didn't usually get out of bed on his day off. Kicking away his covers he stepped to the hardwood floor and stretched, getting out the kinks in his back. With some reluctance he went to investigate his niece and nephew.

"What's with the racket?" he demanded before fully appearing in the doorway to the kitchen.

"She won't share!" snapped Dipper, who was pinned to the floor by his sister. He tried to grab the can of whipped cream, but she held it out of reach.

"It's mine!" she protested. "I got it first."

Stan crossed his arms, taking a moment to study the two. Their faces were full of colour and clear of sweat. The bags that were previously underneath Dipper's eyes were gone and Mabel was practically vibrating with energy. Their hair was damp, indicating that they both had just showered. They were also fully dressed in their usual attire.

"I'm guessing you runts feel better, huh?"

"One hundred percent!" confirmed Mabel, happily adding a healthy dose of whipped cream to her hot chocolate.

"I'd feel better if she'd get off me," grumbled Dipper.

"Mabel, get off your brother. And give him the whipped cream."

Pouting, she complied. Dipper beamed triumphantly and took hold of the blue can.

"When you're done eating, you can go into the Shack and clean up," instructed Stan. "It's just Wendy today."

"What about you?" asked Dipper.

"I'm taking a day off."

"You never take days off."

Stan shrugged. "Well, I am today. Perfect timing, if I do say so myself. You guys have a lot of work to catch up on, so get moving."

"You got it!" said Mabel, saluting him.

"Alright," agreed Dipper. He had been expecting this, for there was no way his great-uncle would let them run wild when they were better and there was work to be done.

Nodding in satisfaction, Stan grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and departed for the living room. Mabel and Dipper finished their breakfast and hurried into the Mystery Shack. Wendy brightened when the two burst through the door. "My bros! You back at the grind?"

"You know it," said Dipper, growing warm under the dazzling smile Wendy sent him. "We're on cleaning duty."

"Boring. So we'll make it fun. This place is pretty dead anyway." Wendy went over to the radio and cranked it up, so that hip-hop music pumped throughout the gift shop. "Dance Party!"

Whooping, Dipper and Mabel grabbed a broom and mop respectively and started twirling around the floor, with Wendy shaking her hips on top of the register stand.

The dance session lasted for about two hours, with the twins using their dance moves to sweep across the floor, picking up dust and cleaning food stains with their cleaning materials. They may have frightened a few customers away with their display, but it was something Stan didn't need to know about.

"Whew!" breathed Mabel, leaning against her mop with a flushed face. "That was wicked!"

Dipper set his cleaning supplies aside. "Well, I guess that's that. You know, we haven't been outside in forever," he mused, staring out the window.

"Let's go frolic!" exclaimed Mabel, letting her mop rest against the wall. "We can roll in the grass!"

"Er…yeah. You do that." Dipper glanced at the redhead. "Is it cool if we leave?"

Wendy pretended to pout. "Oh, fine. Ditch me. But we're so hitting the town after my shift."

"Definitely," said Dipper with a smile. "We'll see you later!"

The twins rushed outside, immediately enjoying the sensation of the sun on their faces. Mabel bounced on her toes. "What should we do?"

Dipper's eyes locked on the golf cart. "How about a victory lap around the Shack?"

"I'm driving!" Mabel was off like a shot.

"No! I'm driving!"

After a brief tussle, Dipper won the right to drive. The two buckled up and Dipper gripped the wheel. "Let's go!"

He stepped on the gas and the white Mystery Cart roared across the dirt. Mabel whooped as her brother turned sharply around the wooden building, kicking up a cloud of dust. "Faster!"

"This won't go any faster!"

"Yes it will! Just let me drive!"

"Mabel, it won't make a difference!"

"Yes it will!"

"Hey! Let go of the wheel!"

In her attempt to take control, Mabel accidentally jerked the wheel too far to the right. Dipper slammed on the brakes, but it was not enough to keep them from careening into the side of the Mystery Shack. Pieces of wood and plaster rained down, striking the roof of the cart and bouncing to the ground. Dipper and Mabel peeked nervously through the hole they had made.

"Um…at least we have a shortcut to the living room," Mabel joked. She flinched under the sharp glare her brother sent her.

"I am so not taking the blame for this," he grumbled, stepping carefully from the dented vehicle. Mabel was about to follow him, but when Stan burst into the room, she decided it might be safer if she remained seated.

Can of soda gripped in his hand, Stan gawked at the disaster that was now his living room. A decent-sized hole in the right wall let him see the bright sunlight and the sprawling green grass of his yard. His eyes snapped to his charges, who were looking at him nervously.

"I was out of this room for no longer than a minute," he said in a low, dangerous tone. "In that minute, you rammed a cart straight through my wall."

"It was an accident," said Mabel weakly.

"Uh…" Now that they were under the sharp glare of their great-uncle, he knew he couldn't leave his sister to solely take the blame (even if it was mostly her fault). "Yeah. Sorry."

Setting down his drink, Stan approached the twins. He hefted Mabel from the cart and picked Dipper up by the back of his vest. Lifting them up so that they had no choice but to look him in the eye, he growled, "Put the cart back where you found it. When you're done that, you're gonna call Soos, and the three of you are going to fix this mess. After that, you can spend the rest of the week working double-time in the Shack."

"Yes, Grunkle Stan," the two chorused quickly.

Stan set them down and gave each a light smack to the head to motivate them into action. The two quickly sped off to complete the orders they were given. Stan crossed his arms and watched them go, a slight smirk working its way across his face.

"Yeah. The runts are back. Which means more trouble for me."

_Not that I'd have it any other way._

With a smile, he went to sit in his chair. "If I'm lucky, they won't bring down the rest of this place trying to fix-_ah…ah…ah…achoo!"_

…_uh-oh._

**Until next time,**

**AnimationNut out.**

**Peace!**


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